You can't. Well, I can't, anyway. The whole mess started when we decided to do a Sky bundle for phone, internet and TV. You schedule your installation dates at the time of ordering, and I thought that it was odd that they made you choose your TV install date before your phone/internet install date, and that there was a three week lapse after the TV was installed in order for us to get phone/ internet.
Now I know why - that famed British paranoia in all things administrative. I learned this the hard way after waiting all day Monday for the phone/ internet engineer to show up. The time slot they gave me was 1-6 PM (you guys with those 2-4 hour time slots aren't complaining any more, are you?), and I gave up by 7PM.
We gave Sky a call to see what the hell happened to our engineer, and it turns out that the engineer wasn't going to show up at all that day, and I was a silly fool for thinking that he would without receiving a confirmation letter by post of the install date. Which I would only have received if I had received my Sky viewing card. Which I would have if the Royal Mail hadn't decided to just return to sender. So here's the lowdown on how to get Sky services:
1. Order Sky phone, internet and TV
2. Schedule Sky TV
3. Schedule Sky internet/ phone
4. Have the TV engineer come to your house - but you can't watch TV right away, you need your viewing card for that, which is sent separately by post.
5. Wait for your viewing card
6. Wait for your viewing card
7. Wait for your viewing card
8. Call Sky and ask what happened to your viewing card. Make peace with the fact that the Royal Mail returned the viewing card to Sky for some unfathomable reason, and Sky will resend it.
9. Wait all day for the internet/ phone engineer.
10. Call Sky and ask what happened to your engineer. Make peace with the fact that the internet/ phone engineer wasn't ever going to show up for the scheduled install if you haven't placed your viewing card in your Sky TV box. Apparently, they don't believe you're actually going to take the bundle until you take the bundle - contracts are for wussies.
11. Wait all day for the viewing card. This is getting familiar.
12. Twiddle your thumbs and think about calling Sky back again since you should've received the viewing card by now.
13. Email friends and family to let them know that they won't be hearing from you in the foreseeable future.
The crazy thing is that once I do receive the viewing card, I have to activate it with a special PIN over the phone. Then Sky will contact BT about my phone line, which will take around 3-5 business days, then Sky will proceed with scheduling the phone/internet install, which can take another two weeks. They'll let me know of this mystery date by post, and I have to give them 3 days notice if this date does not work for and I need to reschedule.
And I ask you, whaaa?!
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Falling for Autumn
One of the biggest gripes I have about LA is the lack of seasons. There's hot, warm, and kind of cool. I didn't notice it so much until I spent three years in Michigan where I got to witness the leaves changing color, and the rows of tulips emerging during spring. Winter wasn't as much fun, but the snow was beautiful and so apropos for the holiday season. And it felt wonderful to be inside in fleece pajamas drinking hot coffee with the radiators turned way up.
Summer is now officially over, and I've definitely noticed the change in the air here in London. The sun sets around 7ish now, whereas it didn't set until around 10 in the height of summer, and the air has a crisp snap to it instead of the slight humidity that was ever present during summer. Which all means, shopping. When I left Michigan, I basically threw away all of my winter clothes i.e. puff jacket, long johns, etc. It wasn't like I was ever going to need the stuff back in California.
And then I moved to London. And now I'm cold. Like really cold. Like I'm wearing stuff I used to wear as a student - no regard for whether it looks nice or anything, just that I don't freeze my butt off. For instance, J and I went out for dinner last night, and I wore a long sleeve shirt with my college sweatshirt and my North Face fleece zipped over the whole mess. And I was still cold.
It may be time for another puff jacket. And long johns.
Summer is now officially over, and I've definitely noticed the change in the air here in London. The sun sets around 7ish now, whereas it didn't set until around 10 in the height of summer, and the air has a crisp snap to it instead of the slight humidity that was ever present during summer. Which all means, shopping. When I left Michigan, I basically threw away all of my winter clothes i.e. puff jacket, long johns, etc. It wasn't like I was ever going to need the stuff back in California.
And then I moved to London. And now I'm cold. Like really cold. Like I'm wearing stuff I used to wear as a student - no regard for whether it looks nice or anything, just that I don't freeze my butt off. For instance, J and I went out for dinner last night, and I wore a long sleeve shirt with my college sweatshirt and my North Face fleece zipped over the whole mess. And I was still cold.
It may be time for another puff jacket. And long johns.
Haberdashers
Yes, they do exist! I always read about haberdashers and the like in Dickens' novels and Jane Austen's characters are always running out the door for a bit of ribbon, but what I thought was an eighteenth century institution still exists in London circa now. And let me tell you, it's infinitely cooler than any Michael's or Tall Mouse I've been to.
It all started when we started hankering for some curtains in the house, and I had to run over to John Lewis on Oxford Street to see what kind of window coverings were available. The sheers they had in stock were fine, but the actual curtains kinda sucked. The designs were a little outdated, and they were way overpriced at around 90 GBP. Too bad Ikea is far away, and Bed Bath & Beyond is only a dream in the UK.
I noticed that there is an entire section devoted to fabrics in the middle of the department store, and I wandered around examining some of the selections. I don't know why Macy's and Nordstroms don't have this - I could've spend hours in there, and I think I may have. I'm a closet DIYer, and I like to tinker around the house. My mom taught me to knit, crochet and sew when I was a little girl, and I was the only kid on the block who never left the house without my trusty knitting needles and ball of yarn. Sooo, I figured why spend a bunch of money on ugly curtains when I could pick out some much nicer fabric and custom make my own?
Only problem is I didn't spy any thread or needles around, and I asked the cashier where I could find some sewing materials. She then replied, "Why, we have a haberdashery up one floor." No Freaking Way. I went up the escalator, and Yes Freaking Way. I was surrounded by thread and yarn galore! I picked out my materials, and then I wandered to another haberdashery nearby.
Liberty is an awesome store on Regent Street. I don't think you could find it if you weren't looking for it, which explains why it was relatively empty when I visited. There are around five floors, and it has women's clothing, furnishings, bath products, home decor, and... a haberdashery! The materials are super girly and a bit expensive, but it's a crafter's fantasy come to life. It's kind of funny because the floors devoted to clothing are a bit trendy and you can see young fashionistas rifling through Marc Jacobs A/W collection. You go up a few stories to the haberdashers, and there are lots of little old ladies rummaging through the quilting patches. I guess you go up floors as you get older.
Anyway, here's a photo of the fruits of my labors:
And now I'm starting to learn how to embroider and do some fancier needlework. Somewhere in me, the ninety year old woman is cheering.
It all started when we started hankering for some curtains in the house, and I had to run over to John Lewis on Oxford Street to see what kind of window coverings were available. The sheers they had in stock were fine, but the actual curtains kinda sucked. The designs were a little outdated, and they were way overpriced at around 90 GBP. Too bad Ikea is far away, and Bed Bath & Beyond is only a dream in the UK.
I noticed that there is an entire section devoted to fabrics in the middle of the department store, and I wandered around examining some of the selections. I don't know why Macy's and Nordstroms don't have this - I could've spend hours in there, and I think I may have. I'm a closet DIYer, and I like to tinker around the house. My mom taught me to knit, crochet and sew when I was a little girl, and I was the only kid on the block who never left the house without my trusty knitting needles and ball of yarn. Sooo, I figured why spend a bunch of money on ugly curtains when I could pick out some much nicer fabric and custom make my own?
Only problem is I didn't spy any thread or needles around, and I asked the cashier where I could find some sewing materials. She then replied, "Why, we have a haberdashery up one floor." No Freaking Way. I went up the escalator, and Yes Freaking Way. I was surrounded by thread and yarn galore! I picked out my materials, and then I wandered to another haberdashery nearby.
Liberty is an awesome store on Regent Street. I don't think you could find it if you weren't looking for it, which explains why it was relatively empty when I visited. There are around five floors, and it has women's clothing, furnishings, bath products, home decor, and... a haberdashery! The materials are super girly and a bit expensive, but it's a crafter's fantasy come to life. It's kind of funny because the floors devoted to clothing are a bit trendy and you can see young fashionistas rifling through Marc Jacobs A/W collection. You go up a few stories to the haberdashers, and there are lots of little old ladies rummaging through the quilting patches. I guess you go up floors as you get older.
Anyway, here's a photo of the fruits of my labors:
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| Take that, nosy neighbors! |
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The Kids Are Alright
Okay, I've been incommunicado for a while now, and it's because we're still waiting for our internet and phone line to be installed. The countdown is at 5 days, and I've become surprisingly zen about the whole thing. It was an absolute nightmare at first, but I've actually acclimated to not having internet at my fingertips. It shouldn't have been as hard as it seemed at first, especially since we didn't have internet until I was in high school, but it's kind of scary how vital it's become. I remember checking my email about every five minutes or so, but now I'm okay with just checking it twice a week or so.
Bad news is that I can't communicate with people back in the States and let them know that everything's alright. So here it is: everything is alright. We're fed, warm and healthy. J is super busy at work (but what else is new?), and I've immersed myself in household chores ever since I've discovered the haberdashers (another post to follow).
Bad news is that I can't communicate with people back in the States and let them know that everything's alright. So here it is: everything is alright. We're fed, warm and healthy. J is super busy at work (but what else is new?), and I've immersed myself in household chores ever since I've discovered the haberdashers (another post to follow).
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Sky TV Installation = Shattered Nerves
One of the most stressful things I had to do was figure how which internet provider to go for. I don't watch much TV or talk on the phone, but I'm online almost all the time so I decided to pick the best internet provider and then get a bundle package for phone and TV with them. There were several to choose from such as BT and Sky, but after doing some research and polling people at J's work, we decided to go with Sky.
When we put in our order, we had to pick a TV install date, which was pretty much as soon as we wanted. However, the install date for phone and internet depended on the TV install date we selected, and the nearest date was three weeks away from the time of our order.
The Sky TV engineer came out to the flat on Friday, and let me tell you, they make them work for their money. Back in the States, your apartment is usually already pre-wired either for cable or satellite, and the guy shows up with a box and flips some switches and boom, you've got ESPN. I wasn't quite sure what the TV installer would be doing, and I asked him if I had to do anything to prepare for his visit when he called the night before to confirm my appointment time. He told me that I didn't need to do anything except be there. Okay, I could definitely do that.
So the guy shows up, and I'm thinking he's going to install a mini-satellite somewhere (I'm not quite sure where), and then I'll have a box in my house that'll receive the signal. Ha, if only it were that easy. First, he told me that he needed to access the roof. A tricky proposition since there are flats above me, and I have no idea how to access the roof. After a failed attempt at going through a skylight with a too-short ladder, I spoke with the builders who were fortunately still working on the basement of the building. The builders gave him access to the roof through another flat, and the guy went scrambling up our sloping roof. Right now, I'm just hoping he doesn't break his neck cause I don't know what to do with a broken TV engineer. The site manager is with me, and he's more worried that he'll break one of the original slate roof tiles.
I'm not quite sure what he did up there, but the engineer returned with both neck and tiles intact and a thick black cable in his hand. This, he informed me, needs to get into my flat somehow to where the Sky box will be. He dropped the cable down the front of the building, and then we trooped back down to the flat. Then he calls his colleague, who shows up with a drill and a bit that's about the length of my arm. At this point, I'm freaking out. The Sky website never mentioned anything about a drill. He casually informs me that he's going to drill a hole through my window sash to snake the cable into the flat. I'm trying not to cry and can't stop thinking, bye bye deposit. But at least now I get to watch endless reruns of Friends. Yay for me [insert sarcastic cheer here].
When we put in our order, we had to pick a TV install date, which was pretty much as soon as we wanted. However, the install date for phone and internet depended on the TV install date we selected, and the nearest date was three weeks away from the time of our order.
The Sky TV engineer came out to the flat on Friday, and let me tell you, they make them work for their money. Back in the States, your apartment is usually already pre-wired either for cable or satellite, and the guy shows up with a box and flips some switches and boom, you've got ESPN. I wasn't quite sure what the TV installer would be doing, and I asked him if I had to do anything to prepare for his visit when he called the night before to confirm my appointment time. He told me that I didn't need to do anything except be there. Okay, I could definitely do that.
So the guy shows up, and I'm thinking he's going to install a mini-satellite somewhere (I'm not quite sure where), and then I'll have a box in my house that'll receive the signal. Ha, if only it were that easy. First, he told me that he needed to access the roof. A tricky proposition since there are flats above me, and I have no idea how to access the roof. After a failed attempt at going through a skylight with a too-short ladder, I spoke with the builders who were fortunately still working on the basement of the building. The builders gave him access to the roof through another flat, and the guy went scrambling up our sloping roof. Right now, I'm just hoping he doesn't break his neck cause I don't know what to do with a broken TV engineer. The site manager is with me, and he's more worried that he'll break one of the original slate roof tiles.
I'm not quite sure what he did up there, but the engineer returned with both neck and tiles intact and a thick black cable in his hand. This, he informed me, needs to get into my flat somehow to where the Sky box will be. He dropped the cable down the front of the building, and then we trooped back down to the flat. Then he calls his colleague, who shows up with a drill and a bit that's about the length of my arm. At this point, I'm freaking out. The Sky website never mentioned anything about a drill. He casually informs me that he's going to drill a hole through my window sash to snake the cable into the flat. I'm trying not to cry and can't stop thinking, bye bye deposit. But at least now I get to watch endless reruns of Friends. Yay for me [insert sarcastic cheer here].
Loving London Weather
Everyone warned me that one of the worst things about living in London was the weather - perpetually raining, damp and cold. They just assumed that since I was coming from southern California, I'd be shocked by the lack of sunshine and seeing people lay out when it's only 62 degrees outside. What they forgot is that I spent three years in Michigan, and if I could survive the winters there, London would be a cinch. Shoot, I was one of those people laying out in the quad when it was 62 degrees outside after a particularly bitter and long Midwestern winter.
The thing I'm loving about the weather is that the forecast will show lots of rain to come, and people will get all gloomy and proclaim that summer is over. And every time they do that, you get a gorgeous day like today where the sky is a clear cerulean blue with a few harmless scattered clouds. Summer may be over, but the weather's never been better since I've arrived.
Now, if only I can get J out of the office...
The thing I'm loving about the weather is that the forecast will show lots of rain to come, and people will get all gloomy and proclaim that summer is over. And every time they do that, you get a gorgeous day like today where the sky is a clear cerulean blue with a few harmless scattered clouds. Summer may be over, but the weather's never been better since I've arrived.
Now, if only I can get J out of the office...
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Our Furniture Finally Cleared Customs and Arrived! Mostly...
Don't worry, we didn't get nabbed by Her Majesty's Customs Service for trying to smuggle in fake iPhones or anything like that. Our things cleared customs, and everything went up the windy, narrow staircase up to our London flat except for one thing: our sofa. It's not huge or anything, it's just that our staircase is very narrow, and very windy, and so it looks like our sofa's going to come in through our living room window courtesy of a lift. I bet my sofa didn't know it was going to have such an exciting life. =)
Anyway, here's some pics of our flat PF (pre-furniture):
This is the lovely open plan kitchen that I'm expected to cook delicious, healthy meals in, except we don't have the appliance manuals yet, so I'm scared to use anything. Blowing up our new flat would be a bad start.
It looks like it has a lot of storage space, but can you spot the refrigerator, washer, dryer, water boiler and dishwasher?
Here are the living room windows, which face out onto the street so I can just stick my head out and spy on all the pedestrians. I haven't seen anything exciting so far, except for a wasp trying to sting its way in. Btw, my windows are super cool in that lower sash pulls up, and get this, the upper sash pulls down! I didn't even know it could do that until the Sky cable installer showed me yesterday. Mortifying, but still very cool to find out.
I was completely stoked when I saw that we have a fireplace, until the estate agent told me that it's non-functioning. Boo. She suggested I put in some nice flowers or something in the grate, but I'm thinking more along the lines of candles? I'm still taking suggestions, and I'm going to troll apartmenttherapy.com for ideas.
We also have two bathrooms, which is pretty awesome and key to a good marriage, I suspect. There are somethings that just shouldn't be shared: underwear, toothbrushes, and bathrooms. This is the hallway bathroom, which I've pretty much adopted as my own since it's smaller than the ensuite bathroom and I'm smaller than J. I could've been a total girl about it and demanded the bigger bathroom, but I graciously decided to do the logical thing. ;)
I was a bit concerned because we heard so many awful things about the water pressure in London, but ours is better than the one we had back in the States. It's like showering under a freaking waterfall. Basically, it's awesome.
Our master bedroom is really large and has built-in storage! I think that was one of the biggest pluses, since we lived in a loft back in the States with zero storage. I don't have that much stuff, no matter what J says, but it's still nice to have all this space to store things in.
It also has another non-working fireplace, and it's still really pretty to look at even though I can't burn anything in it. Don't worry, I'm not some kind of pyro or anything.
Here's the ensuite bathroom, which is pretty much a larger replica of the hall bathroom. The builders were really clever, and they installed these fans that are linked to the light switches. The cool thing is that the fans keep running for 10 minutes after you turn the lights off, so that you can save energy on the lights and still suck up the leftover steam from your shower.
And lastly, we have a small second bedroom that J is using for his study, and I'm putting my vanity in there. Not my actual vanity, I keep that in a nice box right bewteen my self-esteem and ego. ;) It's also a nice place for guests if they should happen to visit. This is a not so subtle hint to our friends back in the States that they have absolutely no excuse not to visit. And you get a view! Not a very nice view, but a view nonetheless. Okay, now I'm just starting to sound desperate.
And then the moving trucks came...
And then they had to park the truck...
And then they had to open the container...
J had fun watching all the commotion...
Our furniture finally made it out of the container, and eventually made it up to our flat!
Anyway, here's some pics of our flat PF (pre-furniture):
It looks like it has a lot of storage space, but can you spot the refrigerator, washer, dryer, water boiler and dishwasher?
I was a bit concerned because we heard so many awful things about the water pressure in London, but ours is better than the one we had back in the States. It's like showering under a freaking waterfall. Basically, it's awesome.
Our master bedroom is really large and has built-in storage! I think that was one of the biggest pluses, since we lived in a loft back in the States with zero storage. I don't have that much stuff, no matter what J says, but it's still nice to have all this space to store things in.
Here's the ensuite bathroom, which is pretty much a larger replica of the hall bathroom. The builders were really clever, and they installed these fans that are linked to the light switches. The cool thing is that the fans keep running for 10 minutes after you turn the lights off, so that you can save energy on the lights and still suck up the leftover steam from your shower.
And then the moving trucks came...
 | |
| This is why you should not ride a motorcycle. |
 |
| That's right, our second moving truck. |
And then they had to park the truck...
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| I'm never going to complain about parallel parking the Z3 ever again. |
And then they had to open the container...
 |
| I think someone forgot the key. |
J had fun watching all the commotion...
Our furniture finally made it out of the container, and eventually made it up to our flat!
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| But first, a nice break on the pavement. |
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The Full English
J and I spent the night at Threadneedles Hotel in the City and had breakfast at the resident Bond restaurant. Our breakfast was inclusive, and we had a choice of the full English or the Continental.
I would normally order the Continental, but when else would we have a chance to order a full English from a fancy restaurant? So we decided to be adventurous, and we both ordered the full English, which consisted of eggs, streaky bacon, sausage, black pudding, roasted tomato and mushroom, toast/ pastries, coffee or tea.
I got my eggs poached, and they came out on little toast rounds, which was really cute and delicious. But the streaky bacon was just floppy. I'm used to and I prefer crispy bacon, but these were just rolling and flopping all over my plate. The taste of the bacon was better though - less salty and more smokey. The potatoes were like slightly flattened tater tots and were a bit too chewy for my taste. And the thing I was dreading the most - black pudding. I really didn't want to eat it, but what's the point of going somewhere new and not trying everything about it, including the food? Well, it wasn't as bad as I anticipated, it just tasted like mushy sausage with an aftertaste that was a bit like dirty dishwater. And I didn't feel the urge to spit it out in my napkin or anything like that, and not just because I was at a fancy restaurant. The toast was to die for though - perfect texture and it came with 5 different kinds of jam!
I don't think I'll be ordering the breakfast again, but it was good to try something new. Shame on me, but I still haven't had fish and chips at a pub yet, although I did direct a very nice group of French schoolgirls on where they can get some. And I don't want to try those sandwiches with the little shrimp inside - it just ain't right.
I would normally order the Continental, but when else would we have a chance to order a full English from a fancy restaurant? So we decided to be adventurous, and we both ordered the full English, which consisted of eggs, streaky bacon, sausage, black pudding, roasted tomato and mushroom, toast/ pastries, coffee or tea.
I got my eggs poached, and they came out on little toast rounds, which was really cute and delicious. But the streaky bacon was just floppy. I'm used to and I prefer crispy bacon, but these were just rolling and flopping all over my plate. The taste of the bacon was better though - less salty and more smokey. The potatoes were like slightly flattened tater tots and were a bit too chewy for my taste. And the thing I was dreading the most - black pudding. I really didn't want to eat it, but what's the point of going somewhere new and not trying everything about it, including the food? Well, it wasn't as bad as I anticipated, it just tasted like mushy sausage with an aftertaste that was a bit like dirty dishwater. And I didn't feel the urge to spit it out in my napkin or anything like that, and not just because I was at a fancy restaurant. The toast was to die for though - perfect texture and it came with 5 different kinds of jam!
I don't think I'll be ordering the breakfast again, but it was good to try something new. Shame on me, but I still haven't had fish and chips at a pub yet, although I did direct a very nice group of French schoolgirls on where they can get some. And I don't want to try those sandwiches with the little shrimp inside - it just ain't right.
Double Decker Bus to the City
There's threats of a Tube strike beginning Monday evening and lasting through Tuesday, so we're all scrambling for alternate methods of transportation. Well, J is anyway. I'm unemployed, so I don't really need to be anywhere, and all the places I may need to go is within walking distance using my short little legs. Yay, so there is something good about being unemployed!
Anyway, it's our one year wedding anniversary today, and we decided to treat ourselves to a fabulous hotel room so we could sleep in a non-inflatable bed in a room filled with real furniture as opposed to spending the day in our empty flat. It's funny because the hotel is right by J's office, so we decided to do a test run of the bus route from our house to his office on our way to the hotel.
I checked out the best route to the office by checking out tfl's website, and the bus stop is right across the street from our flat. Woohoo for major convenience. We used our Oystercard, and the fare's only 1 quid twenty, which is cheaper than using the Tube. We got a scenic 35 minute ride to the City, and the ride was actually pretty nice once we got some seats. Some things I figured out:
In sum, if you're looking for speed and efficiency, I say the Tube's the way to go, but if you don't mind taking a little longer, I think the bus is preferable. For instance, the Tube ride would've only taken 12 minutes, while the bus ride was around 35 mins. But in our case, the bus stops on both ends are closer to our beginning and final destinations, so that cuts down on the walking time. And you can look out the bus windows instead of spending your time averting your gaze on the Tube to avoid inadvertent eye contact. Just some things to think about the next time you're trying to get somewhere.
Anyway, it's our one year wedding anniversary today, and we decided to treat ourselves to a fabulous hotel room so we could sleep in a non-inflatable bed in a room filled with real furniture as opposed to spending the day in our empty flat. It's funny because the hotel is right by J's office, so we decided to do a test run of the bus route from our house to his office on our way to the hotel.
I checked out the best route to the office by checking out tfl's website, and the bus stop is right across the street from our flat. Woohoo for major convenience. We used our Oystercard, and the fare's only 1 quid twenty, which is cheaper than using the Tube. We got a scenic 35 minute ride to the City, and the ride was actually pretty nice once we got some seats. Some things I figured out:
- If the bus stop sign has a white background, the bus is supposed to stop automatically.
- If the bus stop sign has a red background, you need to flag the bus in order to get it to stop.
- If you don't have an Oystercard, buy your bus ticket at the ticket machine at the bus stop before getting on board.
- There's these little red buttons on the bus rails you can push to signal the bus driver to stop.
- There's a digital display that shows the next bus stop.
- I don't want to ride on the upper deck, since barfing on the bus after all that swaying is probably not the most attractive thing I could do.
In sum, if you're looking for speed and efficiency, I say the Tube's the way to go, but if you don't mind taking a little longer, I think the bus is preferable. For instance, the Tube ride would've only taken 12 minutes, while the bus ride was around 35 mins. But in our case, the bus stops on both ends are closer to our beginning and final destinations, so that cuts down on the walking time. And you can look out the bus windows instead of spending your time averting your gaze on the Tube to avoid inadvertent eye contact. Just some things to think about the next time you're trying to get somewhere.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
London Diet Effect, My Ass
Let me clarify, my big fat ass. Cause that's what I have now, a big fat ass. *Sigh*
Before we left for London, I spent most of my time eating all the yummy food that I wouldn't be able to get in London such as awesome Korean and Mexican food. My reasoning for the big pigout was that I'd just walk it all off in London. Weight loss without effort, ta-da! I read all about it - women who had trouble losing weight, then moved to London, and the pounds (aka stones) just melted right off.
So the plan worked perfectly for the first week, where J and I spent five hours a day walking everywhere. Formerly tight pants loosened, and I didn't have to do squats after my jeans came out of the wash to combat the shrinkage from high heat drying. And then J went to work. And I stayed home. And then I discovered M&S Simply Food goodies. Damn Colin the Caterpillar and Percy the Pig jelly treats! Formerly tight pants that had loosened shriveled right up. Now this is bad, really bad, especially since the jeans don't go in the dryer anymore, and I can't tell myself that the dryer had shrunk them. And I've developed this annoying little habit of two packs of Twix a day. Oops.
This walking about the city is definitely not doing anything. I guess this makes sense since I used to eat only health food and run at least four miles a day and lifted weights before we moved to London, and now I walk about a bit and eat junk all the time when I'm not lolling about on my air mattress.
I'm steeling myself for a junk food detox starting today, and I had my farewell candy bar and cheesecake an hour ago. It's back to health food 24/7 for me, and I'm actually looking forward to it. As good as candy can be, feeling bloated and pudge is definitely not fun and fabulous. And as a twenty-something, I think that's what I'm supposed to be striving for. Again, oops.
Before we left for London, I spent most of my time eating all the yummy food that I wouldn't be able to get in London such as awesome Korean and Mexican food. My reasoning for the big pigout was that I'd just walk it all off in London. Weight loss without effort, ta-da! I read all about it - women who had trouble losing weight, then moved to London, and the pounds (aka stones) just melted right off.
So the plan worked perfectly for the first week, where J and I spent five hours a day walking everywhere. Formerly tight pants loosened, and I didn't have to do squats after my jeans came out of the wash to combat the shrinkage from high heat drying. And then J went to work. And I stayed home. And then I discovered M&S Simply Food goodies. Damn Colin the Caterpillar and Percy the Pig jelly treats! Formerly tight pants that had loosened shriveled right up. Now this is bad, really bad, especially since the jeans don't go in the dryer anymore, and I can't tell myself that the dryer had shrunk them. And I've developed this annoying little habit of two packs of Twix a day. Oops.
This walking about the city is definitely not doing anything. I guess this makes sense since I used to eat only health food and run at least four miles a day and lifted weights before we moved to London, and now I walk about a bit and eat junk all the time when I'm not lolling about on my air mattress.
I'm steeling myself for a junk food detox starting today, and I had my farewell candy bar and cheesecake an hour ago. It's back to health food 24/7 for me, and I'm actually looking forward to it. As good as candy can be, feeling bloated and pudge is definitely not fun and fabulous. And as a twenty-something, I think that's what I'm supposed to be striving for. Again, oops.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
The Right Response
"You alright?"
The typical answer would be, "I'm doing great, and how are you?"
But what if what appears to be a question isn't really a question? What if it's just a typical greeting that doesn't call for an actual response?
Lots of people here use that phrase as a greeting. Enter a store, "you alright?" Walk past builders working on your flat, "you alright?" Get into a taxi to go home, "you alright?"
I still have no idea how to respond. I've just resorted to my American version of the phrase so my response is, "How are you?" J suggested the Joey from Friends version, "How you 'doooin?" but seeing as I'm not a fictional Italian man from NYC, I don't think I can pull it off.
Clever, eh?
The typical answer would be, "I'm doing great, and how are you?"
But what if what appears to be a question isn't really a question? What if it's just a typical greeting that doesn't call for an actual response?
Lots of people here use that phrase as a greeting. Enter a store, "you alright?" Walk past builders working on your flat, "you alright?" Get into a taxi to go home, "you alright?"
I still have no idea how to respond. I've just resorted to my American version of the phrase so my response is, "How are you?" J suggested the Joey from Friends version, "How you 'doooin?" but seeing as I'm not a fictional Italian man from NYC, I don't think I can pull it off.
Clever, eh?
Friday, September 3, 2010
Of Shoes and Selfridge's
I've been venturing out into the city, hunting and gathering since we left most of our electronics behind and our sea shipment hasn't cleared customs yet. I'm not really big on shopping - I used to be, but not so much anymore. I'm not quite sure when the transition occurred but now the thought of hitting up Oxford Street kinda makes me wanna hurl.
During law school, my friend Katie got me a subscription to Vogue and Elle magazines for my birthday, and shopbop.com was one of my favorite websites to hit, which I did. Every day. This was supremely stupid for two reasons: 1. I was usually in class where I was supposed to be taking notes, not checking out the latest Look Book by Rag & Bone, and 2. I was a student = no income, and let me tell you friend, shopbop ain't cheap.
Anyway, now I clip coupons and count the grocery store as my new hotspot for shopping so having to buy J a new work bag and getting some shoes to wear out to a fancy dinner makes me want to shoot myself. Since guns aren't allowed in the UK, I dragged myself to Selfridge's on Oxford Street instead. It's a pretty fancy department store that's similar to Bloomingdale's/ Saks in the US, except it seems more hip and trendy. Much more in-your-face glitz and glamour. The makeup department is supposed to be one of the largest in Europe, and the smell of expensive girl kinda smacks you in the face when you first walk in.
Shopping in a different country can be disconcerting. You're not familiar with any of the brands, and so you have no idea whether you can afford it or not. Case in point: Marc by Marc Jacobs - affordable; Marc Jacobs - not so much. Selfridge's shoe department is quite small, and they mix up the more affordable brands along with the more expensive brands. So you'll pick up a shoe, and it'll be 90 pounds, and you'll be like, okay, I can buy this. And then you'll pick up the next shoe, and then it'll say 350 pounds. Whaaa??? In the States, they're very careful about separating the shoes that us poor plebs can afford from the expensive fantasy shoes that only a cast member of Sex and the City could buy. In fact, the Nordstrom in South Coast Plaza keeps them on an entirely different floor. So is this a move by Selfridge's to end the segregation by classes and to allow us poor folk to admire the quality handiwork of Jimmy Choo up close?
Long story short, J got a brand new bag, and I slinked out of there with my tail between my legs and shoeless. Jimmy Choo, go screw yourself, your shit aint' all that.
During law school, my friend Katie got me a subscription to Vogue and Elle magazines for my birthday, and shopbop.com was one of my favorite websites to hit, which I did. Every day. This was supremely stupid for two reasons: 1. I was usually in class where I was supposed to be taking notes, not checking out the latest Look Book by Rag & Bone, and 2. I was a student = no income, and let me tell you friend, shopbop ain't cheap.
Anyway, now I clip coupons and count the grocery store as my new hotspot for shopping so having to buy J a new work bag and getting some shoes to wear out to a fancy dinner makes me want to shoot myself. Since guns aren't allowed in the UK, I dragged myself to Selfridge's on Oxford Street instead. It's a pretty fancy department store that's similar to Bloomingdale's/ Saks in the US, except it seems more hip and trendy. Much more in-your-face glitz and glamour. The makeup department is supposed to be one of the largest in Europe, and the smell of expensive girl kinda smacks you in the face when you first walk in.
Shopping in a different country can be disconcerting. You're not familiar with any of the brands, and so you have no idea whether you can afford it or not. Case in point: Marc by Marc Jacobs - affordable; Marc Jacobs - not so much. Selfridge's shoe department is quite small, and they mix up the more affordable brands along with the more expensive brands. So you'll pick up a shoe, and it'll be 90 pounds, and you'll be like, okay, I can buy this. And then you'll pick up the next shoe, and then it'll say 350 pounds. Whaaa??? In the States, they're very careful about separating the shoes that us poor plebs can afford from the expensive fantasy shoes that only a cast member of Sex and the City could buy. In fact, the Nordstrom in South Coast Plaza keeps them on an entirely different floor. So is this a move by Selfridge's to end the segregation by classes and to allow us poor folk to admire the quality handiwork of Jimmy Choo up close?
Long story short, J got a brand new bag, and I slinked out of there with my tail between my legs and shoeless. Jimmy Choo, go screw yourself, your shit aint' all that.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Dear Furniture,
Please hurry home, we miss you.
The airbed is our raft floating in a sea of wooden floors in an vast and empty room.
I packed an emergency supply of utensils, but I'm missing spoons. Not so good for eating oatmeal and yogurt. Suffice to say, there's a lot of dribbling.
I miss sitting on a chair. I can't figure how those opium den folks always reclined - I'd much rather sit up!
Anyway, get off the ship and come home.
Love, Mom and Dad
The airbed is our raft floating in a sea of wooden floors in an vast and empty room.
I packed an emergency supply of utensils, but I'm missing spoons. Not so good for eating oatmeal and yogurt. Suffice to say, there's a lot of dribbling.
I miss sitting on a chair. I can't figure how those opium den folks always reclined - I'd much rather sit up!
Anyway, get off the ship and come home.
Love, Mom and Dad
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